“Nonononon …
“Stop it!” Dr. Taylor boomed, in a voice so strong and commanding, Charlotte would not have believed it from Daniel Taylor had she not seen him just enter the room. She felt chilled, stunned, as if he were shouting directly at her. Never would she have imagined him speaking to anyone, let alone one of his patients, in that manner. But then the sobbing started again, and she heard the more familiar sound of Dr. Taylor’s soothing voice rumble through the closed door.
Charlotte stood there a moment more, too confused to move. Knowing he might come out at any moment, she stepped back into his room and relit her candle off the one burning low on a bedside table. Beside it was the miniature she’d seen from across the room. She picked it up and quickly studied the portrait. The woman was truly beautiful. Thick dark hair, a wide perfect smile, delicate features, white lace and cameo at her throat. The clothing, the pose, were traditional, but there was something unusually appealing, something nearly exotic about the woman. Charlotte supposed it was the broad smile, deemed so unfashionable in formal portraits. The artist had rendered a nearly playful light in Mrs. Taylor’s dark eyes, hinting at some secret happiness. Was she at home now, missing her husband terribly?
Remembering herself, Charlotte quickly lowered the portrait. I’ve no business poking about. She hurried from the room and made it back down the stairs and into her own room without incident. With a sigh of relief, she slipped into bed, which had never seemed more comfortable.
At the sewing table the next morning, Charlotte asked in what she hoped was a casual tone, “Have any of you ever seen Dr. Taylor’s wife?”
“I never ‘ave,” Sally said.
Mae shrugged. “Me neither.”
“Maybe he isn’t really married,” Bess said. “Just says so, so’s us girls will trust him.”
“So you won’t fawn all over ‘im, more like,” teased Sally.
“Well, Dr. Preston has a wife too, by all accounts, and that don’t make me trust him none,” Mae said.
“Dr. Taylor sure doesn’t go about like a married man. Here all hours instead of a’tome,” Sally mused.
Bess snorted. “Sounds like most men I know. Gone all hours. Comin’ and goin’ as they please.”
“I still say he hasn’t a wife. Looks barely groomed half the time. Needs a wife to dress him I’d say.” Mae grinned.
“Don’t be foolish, ladies,” Gibbs interrupted, stopping at their table. “I have seen Mrs. Taylor with my own eyes I have. More than once.”
“Have you, Miss Gibbs?” Charlotte asked.
“Indeed I have. Dr. Taylor once brought her around to see the place. Right fine lady, by the looks of her. Very handsome, with the finest feathered hat I’ve ever seen. Hair dark as night and eyes twinklin’ like stars. Glowed she did. Like she was eating up every word her husband said. Never seen two people so in love.”
“Goodness, Miss Gibbs, I’ve never heard you string together so many words at one time,” Charlotte said with an appreciative smile.
The woman frowned and bit her lip. “Well, I could not stand here and not put you to rights. Not about good Dr. Taylor’s wife.”
“How long ago was this,” Charlotte asked, “since you saw Mrs. Taylor?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Few months now … maybe half a year.”
In common milkweed, white juice, which oozes out of the stems and leaves when broken … clots, like blood, soon after exposure to air.
JACK SANDERS, THE SECRETS OF WILDFLOWERS
CHAPTER 10
fter two weeks of caring for the little foundling boy, Charlotte -sat on the bench in the manor garden at dusk, tears streaming down her face.
She became aware of Dr. Taylor standing near. When she glanced up at him, his expression grew alarmed.
“What is it?”
“Dr. Taylor! If only you had been here earlier. Dr. Preston said there was nothing he could do, but had you been here, I know you would have at least
“Stop it!” Dr. Taylor boomed, in a voice so strong and commanding, Charlotte would not have believed it from Daniel Taylor had she not seen him just enter the room. She felt chilled, stunned, as if he were shouting directly at her. Never would she have imagined him speaking to anyone, let alone one of his patients, in that manner. But then the sobbing started again, and she heard the more familiar sound of Dr. Taylor’s soothing voice rumble through the closed door.
Charlotte stood there a moment more, too confused to move. Knowing he might come out at any moment, she stepped back into his room and relit her candle off the one burning low on a bedside table. Beside it was the miniature she’d seen from across the room. She picked it up and quickly studied the portrait. The woman was truly beautiful. Thick dark hair, a wide perfect smile, delicate features, white lace and cameo at her throat. The clothing, the pose, were traditional, but there was something unusually appealing, something nearly exotic about the woman. Charlotte supposed it was the broad smile, deemed so unfashionable in formal portraits. The artist had rendered a nearly playful light in Mrs. Taylor’s dark eyes, hinting at some secret happiness. Was she at home now, missing her husband terribly?
Remembering herself, Charlotte quickly lowered the portrait. I’ve no business poking about. She hurried from the room and made it back down the stairs and into her own room without incident. With a sigh of relief, she slipped into bed, which had never seemed more comfortable.
At the sewing table the next morning, Charlotte asked in what she hoped was a casual tone, “Have any of you ever seen Dr. Taylor’s wife?”
“I never ‘ave,” Sally said.
Mae shrugged. “Me neither.”
“Maybe he isn’t really married,” Bess said. “Just says so, so’s us girls will trust him.”
“So you won’t fawn all over ‘im, more like,” teased Sally.
“Well, Dr. Preston has a wife too, by all accounts, and that don’t make me trust him none,” Mae said.
“Dr. Taylor sure doesn’t go about like a married man. Here all hours instead of a’tome,” Sally mused.
Bess snorted. “Sounds like most men I know. Gone all hours. Comin’ and goin’ as they please.”
“I still say he hasn’t a wife. Looks barely groomed half the time. Needs a wife to dress him I’d say.” Mae grinned.
“Don’t be foolish, ladies,” Gibbs interrupted, stopping at their table. “I have seen Mrs. Taylor with my own eyes I have. More than once.”
“Have you, Miss Gibbs?” Charlotte asked.
“Indeed I have. Dr. Taylor once brought her around to see the place. Right fine lady, by the looks of her. Very handsome, with the finest feathered hat I’ve ever seen. Hair dark as night and eyes twinklin’ like stars. Glowed she did. Like she was eating up every word her husband said. Never seen two people so in love.”
“Goodness, Miss Gibbs, I’ve never heard you string together so many words at one time,” Charlotte said with an appreciative smile.
The woman frowned and bit her lip. “Well, I could not stand here and not put you to rights. Not about good Dr. Taylor’s wife.”
“How long ago was this,” Charlotte asked, “since you saw Mrs. Taylor?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Few months now … maybe half a year.”
In common milkweed, white juice, which oozes out of the stems and leaves when broken … clots, like blood, soon after exposure to air.
JACK SANDERS, THE SECRETS OF WILDFLOWERS
CHAPTER 10
fter two weeks of caring for the little foundling boy, Charlotte -sat on the bench in the manor garden at dusk, tears streaming down her face.
She became aware of Dr. Taylor standing near. When she glanced up at him, his expression grew alarmed.
“What is it?”
“Dr. Taylor! If only you had been here earlier. Dr. Preston said there was nothing he could do, but had you been here, I know you would have at least
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